Lessons Learned
by Alfirin1986
Summary: Cadhla learns an important lesson during her travels across Ferelden, much to the amusement of the rest of her party.


Cadhla woke with a headache that could have slayed an archdemon. She was pretty sure that her body was broken, she was so sore. It must not have been life threatening as Alistair was sitting by her head looking far too cheerful in respect to how miserable she was feeling.

Half her face was smashed into her bedroll. At some point during the night the wool had melted to her skin, or so it seemed. She wasn't sure she would be able to separate the two at any point in the near future, but then, she really wasn't sure of anything right now. Everything was spinning and movement didn't seem like it would be a good idea in the slightest.

Her memory of the past twelve hours was uncomfortably blurry. She remembered them stopping to make camp but after that everything had that hazy feeling she usually attributed to dreams and her few conscious visits to the Fade.

The clouds parted and the sun pierced her eyes making her head scream. She groaned and threw her arm over her eyes. Done with a bit too much force she jostled her head, upsetting the already fragile balance and barely managed to keep her stomach from rebelling.

"Oh, sweet Andraste," she muttered. Her throat felt raw and her voice was unusually rough. She pressed her lips together to fight off another wave of nausea. "What did I do last night?"

She heard Alistair chuckle from somewhere above her and his hand rested briefly and gently on her head. The crunch of dirt as he rose to his feet was almost too loud to bear but the sunlight was mercifully blocked out as he leaned over her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "The real question is, what didn't you do last night?"

_Oh sweet Maker, that sounds bad._

He was lucky she was immobile. She didn't even have the will to stick her tongue out at him as he stepped over her and headed out of the tent. She forced her mind, rebellious as it was at the moment, to focus on the still foggy memories of the night before. The sound of his chuckle told her she might regret what she was about to remember.

**O-o-O**

She had been thrilled to leave Orzammar behind them. The Deep Roads had haunted her almost as much as the Fade. They hadn't seen the sun for weeks and though the city had been impressive she had found the Deep Roads less than inviting. Then how can something so dark and filled with darkspawn and other nasty creatures be inviting? Just thinking about those darkened tunnels made her shudder.

"Got a bug in your britches, Warden?"

She looked at their newest companion. The dwarf had decided to join them when they left Orzammar, though she suspected part of it was because there was little left for him below the surface.

She chose to ignore his question. From past experience she knew he wouldn't care—or even notice—and she didn't think he'd appreciate her telling him how glad she was to be rid of the place he called home. "How are you adjusting to the surface, Oghren?"

He belched and reclined against the log they had dragged near the fire. "I would have thought saving the surface would have involved less walking. Then there's all this sky. Can't blame a dwarf for worrying about falling into the sky."

That seemed to be a common theme among the dwarves of Orzammar. Despite the fact that no one in the history of the world had ever been confirmed as having fallen into the sky they still believed it to be a very real threat.

"Little legs getting tired?" Zevran asked as he joined the two of them.

"Not a chance, elf!" Oghren roared. The smell of ale and unwashed dwarf wafted over the two as he shouted his outrage at such an indignity.

"Calm yourself, my friend. Perhaps some Antivan brandy will ease your mighty temper."

Cadhla rolled her eyes, but smiled. In the short time she had known Oghren she had never seen him pass up an offer of alcohol. He didn't refuse now. They watched Zevran disappear into his tent and when he returned he had a cup for each of them. Not usually one to drink, she should have known nothing good would come of it but she accepted it anyway.

That was the beginning of the end.

"THEN I CHALLENGE YOU TO A DUEL!"

Everyone had been stunned into silence when Cadhla had stood on top of a log and shouted that at Oghren. Who was he to tell her that he could and would outdrink her now and at any time in the future? It was outrageous; that's what it was.

"UNLESS YOU HAVE THE GIFT OF FORESIGHT, SER DWARF, YOU COULD NOT POSSIBLY KNOW THAT!" she continued, planting her fists on her hips as she glared down at them. Her hair had come unbound at some point between the first of the Antivan brandy and the last of it. Now it flared wildly out around her face and cascaded over her shoulders. "DO YOU ACCEPT MY CHALLENGE?"

Oghren stood, raising his fist in acceptance of her challenge, "You're going down, Warden!"

She had missed the subtle exchange of coins between those seated around the fire as she lifted her cup to her lips.

It was on.

**O-o-O**

Cadhla groaned and managed to roll away from the sunlight that was still piercing straight through her eyes to her brain.

_Maker take me, I will never drink agai_n, she moaned to herself.

Why she had ever decided it would be a good idea to challenge any dwarf, let alone Oghren, to a drinking contest was beyond her. It was something she would regret for the rest of her days.

She heard the tent flap rustle as Alistair returned. He set a cup of steaming tea down near her head as he settled himself beside her. "When Wynne gets back she'll heal you, but until then she left this tea to help. Can you manage it?"

Her gray eyes lifted to his face and he smiled as sympathetically as someone who'd never been in her place could. "Can't."

"I'm not really surprised. That brew of Oghren's-whew." He shook his head ruefully and that sympathetic smile reappeared on his face. "I think I can still smell it."

There was a definite smell lingering in the vicinity and Cadhla was pretty sure it was her.

**O-o-O**

They had finished off the camp's supply of wine in record time and were quickly working through the ale. Cadhla was sitting far enough from the fire that if she fell over she wouldn't fall into it, but close enough to feel the heat of it on her face.

"So, you and the boss aye?"

Cadhla heard Alistair's surprised yelp before the question registered in her brain. It was hard to get offended with the flood of alcohol drowning her senses, but she knew she should be incredulous at the dwarf's very personal inquiry.

They had been trying hard to keep their relationship a secret and of course because of that everyone knew. Still, they snuck into each other's tents when they thought everyone else was asleep and stole soft kisses when no one was looking. Or so they thought. Apparently Oghren was impervious to such efforts.

"I don't know—"

Oghren cut off Alistair's reply. "No point in denying it. I just want to know something."

Alistair looked at Cadhla but as intoxicated as she was she would be no help to him. Cadhla watched a blush creep up his cheeks and he cleared his throat. He was going to try to use the voice he had been taught in his templar training. She loved when he tried to use that voice.

"And what might that be, dwarf?" he asked in a tone that was as close to no-nonsense as he could manage.

Cadhla giggled. She loved when he tried to be so serious. Her fingers were pressed around another cup and she smiled blearily up at Zevran. _He's been so helpful; always keeping my mug full_, she told herself. She was too busy accepting more alcohol to notice Oghren look her up and down before answering.

"When you two are rolling your oats, polishing the footstones, tapping the midnight sti—"

"Your point, Oghren!" Alistair interrupted, his face now bright red with embarrassment.

Oghren looked confused for a moment as he searched for his original inquiry. "Oh, aye. What do you do with her legs?"

Even the crickets fell silent at the dwarf's question.

"I don't—what are you—how is that any of your business?"

"Don't get your small clothes in a wad. I was just curious. You see that's the problem with dwarven legs. They're useless as an accessory." Oghren took another swig of ale. "But a human's legs are long enough to—"

"La la la la! Not listening!" Alistair shouted, interrupting Oghren. He jumped up, looking down at the owner of the legs in question for any kind of assistance in fending off this topic. She was gazing up at him with wide eyes that reminded him of the orbs of light he'd seen the circle magi conjure. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen eyes that wide before but he was sure that her normal modest nature was smothered beneath far too much alcohol for her to be of any help strangling their dwarven companion. Defeated on both fronts he sat down again with a sigh.

"They're still fairly innocent, my short friend," Zevran cut in. He was grinning wickedly.

"Aha I see. You just get 'em out of your way and go about your business then. Good on you!"

Finally everything registered. Cadhla stirred from her stupor and rose to her feet in a rush. She wobbled dangerously until Alistair steadied her, earning a grateful if somewhat lopsided smile. "What Alistair does with my legs is none of your business!" She jerked a finger at the two conspirators who only laughed. "And as they are my legs, belonging to **me**, you don't need to—uhm, need to—" She paused, searching for the remainder of her thought. "Be concerned!"

Zevran held up his hands in surrender, still grinning. "We were only looking out for the _well-being_of the two remaining Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden."

"You don't fool me, you sneaky assassin!" Cadhla crowed. "And legs aside—" Oghren and Zevran howled with laughter, interrupting the flustered warden. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the two. "I love him!"

The assassin placed a hand over his heart and gave a little half bow of acknowledgment. "Then I congratulate you both. You, Alistair, have found a most exceptional woman." He was still smiling though and Cadhla frowned. "Still that does not change our original con—"

"Just let it go," Alistair interjected quickly. He had seen the flush rise in Cadhla's face and he wanted to head her off before she could start again. "I'm begging you."

"Aye, if we keep this up we're not going to have any ale left for tomorrow," Oghren interjected.

Cadhla took a step towards him, "Is that a forfeit, Oghren?" She was sure he was about to forfeit, sure she was about to be able to say she had out-drank him.

He laughed, "Come on Warden, one last drink."

"You didn't answer my question. Is that a forfeit?"

He dug in his pack and pulled out a wineskin. "Dwarves don't forfeit, Warden. You drink this and then we'll see where we stand."

He poured out two cups of a liquid so dark it disappeared against the shadows outside the fire's ring of light. The smell of it was overpowering and she wrinkled her nose as he held it out to her. "What is that? Are you trying to poison me? Because if that's the only way you are able to get out of this bet I want to tell you that's cheating!"

"This is my own special brew. There's nothin' poisonous about it." She watched him take a long swallow and when he remained standing she raised her own cup to her lips. The smell only got worse as she brought it closer to her face. It brought back memories of the time spent deep in the tunnels of the earth.

Even though all of her drowned out senses told her she shouldn't drink it she tilted the cup to her lips and drank. There was no way she was going to allow this dwarf to beat her.

The liquid didn't taste as quite as bad as it smelled though it wasn't something she would willingly drink again. She gasped as it burnt her throat like she had swallowed a hot coal. She didn't have to endure it long though because everything around her began to fade out at a rather alarming rate. She felt her body start to fall but was out before she hit the ground.

Oghren looked over to the rest of the group. "I win."

**O-o-O**

"Feeling any better?" Alistair asked.

"No," she moaned, now understanding why her voice was so scratchy, "Just more embarrassed." His chuckle gave her a sliver of hope that he wasn't as mortified as she thought he should be. "I am by no means drinking again… not ever."

Cadhla would never understand why she accepted that cup of brandy from Zevran. The bastard should be suffering just like she was suffering. It was no secret she didn't drink.

"Don't feel bad. You won me some coin at the very least."

She jerked upright and instantly regretted it as her stomach rolled and her vision darkened momentarily at the sudden movement. She clasped her head in her hands and groaned, "You bet against me?"

"I'm sorry, love, but Oghren's drunk all the time," he replied. "As much as I love you I couldn't bet against him."

She knew he was right. It made her hangover that much worse to admit it but she should have known better. Groaning she lowered herself back down and curled up into a ball. She would sleep forever if she could. At least in the Fade she didn't feel like she had been run over by a bronto. "Just put me out of my misery," she moaned.

"Wynne will be back soon," Alistair assured her.

As if on cue the tent flap was pushed aside again and the circle mage stepped into the tent. Her hands were on her hips as she stared down at her helpless patient. "Well Warden, have we learned our lesson?" she asked in a voice that Cadhla had heard her mother use a thousand times.

"Oh yes,Wynne," Cadhla groaned meekly. "I have. I promise."

It was the same assurance she had fed her mother too. She had always promised she would never do whatever she was in trouble for again—until she did. This time, however she knew she would never do it again. For once she was sure she would never be tempted to repeat her not-so-brilliant idea from the night before.

"And what was that lesson?" Wynne prompted.

"I can't out-drink a dwarf."


End file.
